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Mom came up to me as I finished wiping down a table and handed me a bottle of water. “Is that Travis?” she asked.

I took a sip and then smiled. “Shocking, right?”

Mom pursed her lips as she tilted her head to the side.

“He’s been going at it for over an hour now,” I said, nudging her. “Maybe you can bring him some coffee?”

“Maybe I will, after Leo sees Santa.” She walked away but not before I caught her smoothing her hair and adjusting her sweater.

Leo called out my name and waved from where he stood next in line, his eyes sparkling with excitement. I waved back before dropping my damp dishcloth into a bin near the trash cans. The door to The Market opened, bringing in a flurry of snowflakes on a cold breeze and someone who made my breath catch in my throat.

Sam’s eyes found mine in an instant from across the room.

They always did.

Last night’s unexpected kiss in the snow, the way his hands felt around my back, the feel of his slightly chapped lips against mine came rushing back, and I had to blink, to look away, just to remember how to breathe.

By the time I willed myself to look his way again, he was gone, and Leo barreled into my side, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“He said he’d do his best to grant my wish!” he said against my sweater, his voice muffled.

“Of course he will, he’s Santa!” I said as I rubbed his head.

“Good morning, Gianna,” Sam said as he appeared at my other side.

“Good morning.” I put a hand against my stomach to try to calm the nerves that did a full Broadway number at his arrival before I patted Leo’s back. “Leo, why don’t you go grab some pancakes, and I’ll sit with you while you eat, okay?”

He zipped away toward one of the open griddle stands, and I took in a deep breath, hoping the right words would come out.

But what are the right words? “Sam—”

“Gianna,” he began at the same time.

We laughed, and then he gestured to me. “You go ahead.”

Okay. I can do this. “Um, about last night—”

The piercing sound of feedback shrieked through the air before a familiar voice called out over the megaphone. “Gianna Mancini!”

I turned around toward the stage where Santa sat, and my stomach dropped.

Oh, dear God.

James stood with a goofy grin on his face, donning Hal’s elf hat, and holding the megaphone in front of his mouth. A second later, he pointed to the small group of brass players who counted off before they started into a rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock.” James began snapping and moving his hips from side to side, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his foolishness, or, who was I kidding, his bravery. By now, most of the people inside had their phones out, including all of my cousins, because I mean, why not?

Public humiliation was always an entire-Mancini-family affair.

The band played on until they got to the bridge, and suddenly the megaphone screeched again before James asked me the one question I knew he would and prayed he wouldn’t: “Will you go to the Mistletoe Masquerade with me?”

The music abruptly stopped.

The room stilled except for the two dozen or so phones that filmed the entire excruciating moment.

My chest tightened, my hands turned clammy, and the room began to press itself in around me, the exposed beams dropping lower and lower until…

The piercing shriek of the fire alarm pierced the air.

Hal, aka Santa, grabbed the megaphone out of James’s hand and ordered everyone to stay calm and make their way toward the exits as quickly as possible. I joined the throng through the side door, away from the majority of the crowd.